


Dance with the Devil

by Skulduggery



Series: Bloodverse [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels and Demons, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindfolds, Demon Thorin, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fingerfucking, Foreplay, Gratuitous Smut, Mild Painplay, Oral Sex, Rule 63, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skulduggery/pseuds/Skulduggery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin was gathered with his twelve favorite advisors in the antechamber, standing in a loose group around a tall roaring hearth. When the doors opened, the golden light of the hall cast a bright sliver across the polished marble floor, painting her figure in sharp relief against the darkness of Thorin’s chambers. The impact was apparent from the moment Bella set foot into the room-- Thorin and his twelve advisors froze, caught up in a collective stare at the dark queen who had just stormed their meeting. Bofur, who was nursing a goblet generously full of wine, even dropped his drink. The silver chalice clattered loudly against the floor and left a dark stain on the marble, but none of them seemed to notice.</p><p>“Get out,” Bella ordered, gaining confidence in their long hesitation. She raised her chin and looked them over, daring any one of them to protest.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Gratuitous smut to accompany <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1133511/chapters/2291112">Sell Me the Secrets of Love with a Pint of Blood</a>, by request. Modern Demon AU with fem!Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> This is a scene that occurs within the established universe (the "Bloodverse") of [Sell Me the Secrets of Love with a Pint of Blood](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1133511/chapters/2291112). You're more than welcome to read this fic on its own, but it might make a little more sense if you read the actual AU first.
> 
> Over on Tumblr, niquesse challenged me to write a 20,000 word smutfic to satiate my sexually frustrated readers. This isn't going to go quite to 20,000 words, but it's still fairly long-- long enough that I felt justified breaking it up into a multi-chaptered work. I'll finish it up and post the rest as soon as I can. In the meantime, enjoy. :)

Bella had never expected to wear black on her wedding night.

It wasn’t a wedding night in the most traditional sense. She wasn’t sure if devils had any sort of ceremonial unions to consecrate love—presumably, that was more heaven’s thing than hell’s. But in a very symbolic sense, a wedding night was exactly what was happening: the first night that she gave herself willingly and wholly to Thorin, Lord of Silver Fountains, King of Avarice, Prince of Hell.

It had been a long time coming. He’d been pining after her for months, haunting her every step, and stubbornly, she’d held tight to her pride, unwilling to succumb to his sexual advances until she was convinced she could also give herself to him in an emotional sense as well. She’d wrestled with trepidation, second thoughts, uncertainty, and fear—and in the end, she’d come to realize that despite the cacophony of feelings that he conjured up in her, it all came together in a very unorthodox form of love.

Thorin didn’t know the significance of tonight. Bella hadn’t told him, in the glorious tradition of every demon she’d ever come into contact with. The monsters loved their surprises—so she was going to give him one he wasn’t likely to forget.

When she arrived at the massive, opulent doors to his private quarters, the attending guards gave her the same questioning look.

“Open the doors,” she ordered, her head high and her shoulders back. Demons or no, she wasn’t intimidated by guards anymore. Thorin had told her he meant to make her his queen; if that was truly the case, his minions would have to learn to obey her.

The two glanced uncertainly at each other, then as one looked toward the door the other faced her to speak. “Milord is in an important conference.”

She canted her head at his audacity, her eyes narrowing beneath her jeweled black veil. “Oh, _really?”_

He apparently didn’t detect her sarcasm. As he opened his mouth to confirm, she moved forward and threw the heavy doors open, striding into the massive living quarters of the devil. She saw immediately that the guard had been truthful; Thorin was gathered with his twelve favorite advisors in the antechamber, standing in a loose group around a tall roaring hearth. When the doors opened, the golden light of the hall cast a bright sliver across the polished marble floor, painting her figure in sharp relief against the darkness of Thorin’s chambers.

When she’d told Dis of her intentions, the demoness had been more than happy to truss Bella up in something that was certain to impress. It was a sleek, long-sleeved black dress with that hugged her curves all the way to her thighs, where a full train spilled out like the base of an hourglass. The real selling point was not in front—rather, the dress had no back, and instead her bare skin was draped with glittering strands of diamonds, complete with a wide choker that climbed the architecture of her neck. Thorin’s greatest love was wealth; though Bella didn’t care much for jewelry herself, tonight she was dressed for him.

The impact was apparent from the moment Bella set foot into the room. Thorin and his twelve advisors froze, caught up in a collective stare at the dark queen who had just stormed their meeting. Bofur, who was nursing a goblet generously full of wine, even dropped his drink. The silver chalice clattered loudly against the floor and left a dark stain on the marble, but none of them seemed to notice.

Thorin in particular seemed fascinated by her appearance. As he drank in the sight of her, his lips parted just a little, as if there were a thousand words perched on the edge of his tongue that he couldn’t seem to voice. The fact that she had rendered him speechless for once was deeply satisfying.

“Get out,” Bella ordered, gaining confidence in their long hesitation. She raised her chin and looked them over, _daring_ any one of them to protest.

None of them spoke out against her, but neither did they move. Fili and Kili looked to Thorin, who still hadn’t managed to tear his gaze from Bella.

“ _That was an order_ ,” she said firmly, beginning to slowly advance on the group. That was apparently all the confirmation they needed—they hastened toward the door collectively, sparing Bella more than a few looks as they filtered out. Thorin was the only one who didn’t move; he remained a dark, towering pillar in front of the fire, the dim light lining his dark suit in a hellish glow. The expression on his face had grown stormy and difficult to read, and she had to fight off the instinctive intimidation she felt as she closed the distance between them.

“That was an important meeting,” he said when the doors were finally shut and they were alone.

“Would you like me to apologize?” she questioned, raising a challenging eyebrow. She saw his eyes drop to her red painted lips, and though Thorin was unpredictable at the best of times, she had a good guess as to what was running through his head.

At long last, he managed the shadow of a strained smile. He hesitantly reached out toward Bella, but rather than touch her, his finger merely danced along the jeweled edge of her black veil. “The veil is a nice touch,” he commented.

“Thank you.” Bella smiled in satisfaction and turned on her heel, pulling out of reach to move into the bedroom beyond the antechamber. The room was dark, lit only by a few scattered candles and the cold starlight that filtered in through the towering banks of windows. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom more slowly than a demon’s, so she moved to the windows on the far wall, staring out into the solemn night of the underworld.

She didn’t hear Thorin follow her, but his voice rang out from closer than she’d expected. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t jump.

“If this is one of Dis’ foolish games…” he began, a note of warning in his voice as he neared her.

“Actually, it’s one of mine,” she answered smoothly, turning to face him. Closing the distance between them with a few short steps, her hands fluttered up to the collar of his shirt and she began drawing out the knot in his tie. “… One I rather thought you might enjoy,” she added significantly.

With her hands so near his throat, it would have been impossible to miss the thick swallow that bobbed beneath his skin. His mouth opened again, turning words over in his head before he managed to speak. He reached up and grasped the hands that were slowly loosening his tie, stilling her movement temporarily. “You mean…?”

“You’ve told me time and time again that you could give me the best night of my life,” she provided, willing herself to look up and meet his gaze. She took comfort in her dark veil just then, hoping it might do something to conceal the vestal blush in her cheeks. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Thorin’s eyes were unreadable—they shone crystalline and luminous in the slanted starlight. The hunger in his look reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, a handsome stranger reflected in the dim shadows of a mirrored window. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.

She watched as the expression shifted on his face. At first he seemed wary, disinclined to believe that she had suddenly come to reciprocate his feelings. She knew what was running through his mind—the countless times that he’d made advances on her only to fail, and how adamantly she had rejected him every single night. Despite the self-assured confidence that he oozed from every pore, it seemed he had finally grown resigned to her resistance toward him—to the extent that now, when she decided to give in, he didn’t know what to think. But slowly, as he looked at her he was convinced of her sincerity. Something clicked in his mind and his features visibly shifted to reflect it, a broad and predatory smile curling over his lips like an eager wolf from a children’s fairytale. She half expected him to pounce on her then and there, in light of how long he’d been made to wait—but instead he assumed the air of a patient, stalking shadow, who was entirely unconcerned with time because at long last, _she was surrendering to him._

Releasing her hands, he slipped the loosened tie over his head and let it drop to the floor. When she unbuttoned his tailored jacket, he obediently shrugged it off of his shoulders and let it follow the tie. But when she reached for the buttons of his collared shirt, he restrained her by the wrists, urging her to stay her hands. Curious, she obeyed; and as he released her and began to circle her like a vulture, she wondered if perhaps she’d made a grievous mistake.

When he came around behind her he stepped closer and she felt his fingers graze along the jeweled strands draped over the topography of her back. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding touching her skin to skin—she only felt how the heavy jewelry danced under the influence of his fingertips. Silently she willed him to give up his game, to touch her, possessively and violently as she’d always imagined him to. She could handle him when he was being lewd and base; she didn’t know what to do with this new side of him now, all patience and restraint. It made her wonder exactly what she was in for tonight.

“I always wanted to see you like this,” he remarked, his fingertips passing over the clasp of the large, ornate choker around her neck. Though he didn’t touch her, he grazed the short, fine hair at the base of her pinned curls and it was enough to make her shiver. “Dripping with diamonds. All dressed up in black.”

“I thought you would like it,” she said. She kept her back to him and focused on ensuring her voice remained steady, for all that she was brimming with nervousness and anticipation. It was easy enough to put on a confident show in front of all his friends; it was something else entirely to perform to his expectations when they were alone.

“There’s only one thing that would make it better,” he observed with the critical mind of an artist, the hint of a smile audible in his voice. He stepped closer and his arm wound around her body, coming to rest on the front of the choker. She felt him lean down to smell her hair as his hand began a slow trek downward over her torso, exploring the contours of her form. In spite of her relatively modest dress, it felt to her as if he were touching her bare skin—she closed her eyes and noted the impression of his fingertips tracing the deep valley between her breasts, following it into the faint divot at the bottom of her ribcage, until at last his palm came to rest on top of her quivering stomach. Suddenly she was struck by the chill of the air in the room, and when she opened her eyes, she realized that her dress was gone entirely, dissolved as if it were a tuft of smoke from an extinguished candle. Thorin had made it disappear, leaving her standing in nothing but a pair of lacy black knickers, black pumps, and the jeweled choker and veil. She couldn’t help the sudden start of surprise that jerked through her—she looked over her shoulder at Thorin, her body flooded with shock and fear and more than a little bit of excitement. She was met with nothing more than an easy smile, as if the trick were something she ought to have expected.

It took all of her will not to instinctively cover herself up. After so much time spent dodging Thorin, she was aching to be seen by him—she needed to feel him looking at her and touching her, exploring her in all the most intimate of ways. But she was very quickly losing the upper hand, and that wasn’t something she had expected.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, leaning down to trace the curve of her neck, obscured by the choker, with the tip of his nose. He followed the shapely line all the way to her shoulder, where he planted a tender, chaste kiss. Chill aside, arousal was beginning to course through her veins, and she thought she felt him spare an appreciative glance for her puckered breasts before he straightened.

“Of course,” she answered, perhaps with a little less strength than she’d intended.

“Bella.” He rested one hand in the small of her back, letting it trace the circumference of her waistline as he moved to stand in front of her. His hand shifted upward along her body, his thumb teasing her nipple ever so slightly before his fingers framed her face beneath the veil. Her breath faltered at the slight, intimate touch, her body hungry for more. “Do you trust me?”

It was a frightening question that carried with it a whole slew of implications. But despite her hesitation, she knew the answer long before she spoke. “Yes,” she breathed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The fact still surprised her, of course. He was, after all, a demon lord, and he had proven himself to be a devious trickster time and time again. But somehow, he was never anything less than reliable when he was dealing with her—no matter how much she fought against him, how viciously she rebelled, he always handled her with the utmost care.

And she loved him for it.

“Good.” He reached up and removed the black veil, unpinning her curls to let them spill in a wild mass down her naked back. With her face uncovered, he leaned down and kissed the corner of her jaw, forgoing her waiting lips in order to preserve the red stain just a bit longer. She ignored the fluttering in her belly and the desire curling between her legs, a visceral instinct from deep inside that was screaming for him to _touch_ her. She had to accept that she was in the hands of a master. If nothing else, Thorin knew what he was doing.

When he drew back, he pulled a wide black ribbon from the pocket of his trousers that she would have been willing to bet wasn’t there before. She gave it a questioning look, but before she could ask what it was for, he spoke.

“Lay down on the bed,” he ordered. His low, rich voice was patient and gentle, though far from casual. She knew he had been waiting for this even longer than she had; whatever he had planned, she felt she ought to at least give it a chance. She spared one last curious look at the ribbon, then she obeyed.

Her heels echoed loudly against the marble floor as she slowly crossed the dark room to Thorin’s bed, a massive expanse of silky sheets and cushions draped with sheer curtains atop an elevated platform. The bed was flanked by tables heavily laden with candles on either side, though their bright flicker was dimmed somewhat by the transparent black curtains. Bella slipped off her heels and climbed onto the bed, unfurling her body right down the center. She was nervous as Thorin followed her, still completely dressed with the ribbon in his hand, but she supposed if he had the power to make her dress dissolve then his clothing was the least of her worries.

He knelt over her, his spread knees on either side of her hips, and though she held her weight propped up on her elbows he nudged her down onto the bed with a gentle hand on her chest.

“Lay back,” he instructed. “Relax.” She tried to do as she was told, closing her eyes and tamping down the anxious flutter in her core. A moment later she felt the silk ribbon cover her eyes, and as he gently tied it behind her head, she understood.

The ribbon was a blindfold.

“But—“ she began to protest, reaching out to rest her hand on the base of his thigh.

“Shh,” he eased, extracting himself from her grip and laying her hand on the bed. “Don’t touch.”

She focused on lying still, her tactile sense heightened by her lack of vision. She was suddenly hyperaware of the dark, silky sheets beneath her back, of the warm weight of the choker pressing into her neck, and the way that her hair tickled her shoulders and back where it was spread out underneath her. Nakedness was not something that she regularly indulged in and her breasts felt unusual splayed freely in the open air, but there was also a dim, perverse pleasure in the exposure. She’d always felt that she had especially excellent breasts—it was high time they were appreciated by someone.

She nearly lost herself in her thoughts, to the extent that she lost track of where Thorin was in relation to herself. She was beginning to wonder if he’d disappeared entirely in some ruthless prank when she felt something brush against her shoulder. Something velvety soft—but fragile, strangely organic…

A rose. She’d spent so long handling roses she was certain she would have recognized the distinctive touch of rose petals anywhere. The bud was still young and fresh, and judging from her faint impression of its shape, she guessed that it hadn’t yet opened up into a full bloom. It followed the length of her collarbone from the top of her shoulder down to the bottom of her throat where it met the dangling tip of her choker. The touch of the petals was feather-light, gentle but strikingly vivid; she felt her heartbeat quicken and her breath come heavier as the rose slid down her chest to follow the curve of her breast. It explored the neglected crease on the underside, paying special attention to the soft, sensitive skin enveloping the heavy swell at the bottom. When it brushed ever so slightly over her nipple, her lips fell open and her body arched upward, eager for more.

Though it was quiet, she could have sworn she heard Thorin breathe a laugh at her response to the touch. He teased her breast with the bud a moment longer, then moved downward to circle her belly button, drawing a wide ellipse over the surface of her stomach. She twitched just slightly at the contact, her whole body already tense with arousal like a bowstring.

Then the rose moved lower, and lower. And it was lifted off of her skin.

His fingertips ghosted lightly over her hips, just enough to grip the hem of her underwear and slide it down her legs. She felt him lean close as he did, his hot breath moving down her stomach, washing briefly between her legs, and then following her thighs. As he slipped the knickers off her feet she felt him press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and her legs tightened around him, her foot nestling into the back of his shirt.

“Thorin,” she moaned, reaching for his hair.

He retreated from her reach, disappearing from her perception again. “Shh,” he quieted again. “Patience.”

Bella pouted, a hundred different arguments queuing up in her head in response to that, but she reminded herself that she had planned to let him do things his way tonight. She would let him have the first round, at least. She couldn’t deny that this endless foreplay was driving her completely insane in all the best ways, and she wanted to know what more he might do; she was sure she’d have the chance to ride him senseless later.

Then she felt the sharp bite of a thorn press into her nipple and her hips jerked reflexively. “Oh,” she purred, her fingertips digging into the bedding as the thorn scratched down across the underside of her breast. It followed the contours of her side down to her hip, leaving a hot trail of mild pain in its wake. Then it withdrew, and after a pause her breasts were met with the wicked points of two thorns simultaneously; her breath wavered and her head rolled back, caught up entirely in the sharp stimulation. Her hips rolled more deliberately this time, hoping to find him perched close over her, but she was disappointed.

The thorns traced wicked symmetry over her torso before they withdrew—and this time when she was touched again, it was that velvet-soft rose, retracing the stinging path of the thorns, soothing the hot trails they’d left on her skin. It disappeared briefly and there was a rich pause laden with anticipation—then she felt the petals drag over the sensitive folds between her legs. She gasped and twitched before spreading her thighs, eager for a firmer touch, but was left only with the wickedly gentle tease of the rose’s petals. It twirled and fluttered, every stroke vivid enough to echo from head to toe.

“Please,” she murmured, reaching blindly for Thorin. The rose withdrew and she felt his weight shift on the bed, then she found his shoulder as he knelt on his hands and knees over her. He was still fully dressed, she noted—but at her urging he leaned down close enough that he could feel his breath on her naked skin. As he gently draped himself over her body his lips found their way to her shoulder, his teeth pinching the taut skin on her collarbone just enough to sting before he nursed the sore little spot with his hot tongue.

“Nn, yes,” she breathed as he kissed his way lower. He paused for a moment in the v-shaped rift between her breasts, pressing his lips reverently against her sternum as if to pay homage to the fluttering heart housed inside her chest. Then his mouth closed over the tip of one breast and her torso lifted to meet him, his hand slipping comfortably into the arch of her back as she pressed up into his mouth. His tongue slid in a slow, deliberate caress over the sensitive skin, fondling her with the sort of expert dexterity that had warmth curling up deep in her core. She slipped her fingers into his thick, dark hair and gripped it tight, gratified when she was answered with a low noise deep in his throat. His fingertips pressed a little harder into the flesh of her back and her legs wrapped around his middle, eager to feel him closer. His crisp, clean shirt pressed against the wetness between her legs, a strangely alluring sensation.

After a few moments his mouth left her breast and ventured down to the arch where her ribcage framed her stomach. His hands smoothed experimentally over her back, mapping out every curve for the very first time. She felt his fingertips press into the protrusion of her spine, following it down to her tailbone as if he were just now discovering the path. It was an intimate touch, as emotional as it was sexual, and the warmth of his large hands as they moved slowly over her body a welcome intrusion on the neglected skin.

Meanwhile, he rubbed his nose and his cheek—just slightly sharp with the gentle bite of new stubble—along the base of her ribcage, marking the corner with his lips where it jutted out to frame her belly. He shifted to kiss a line down the center of her stomach, then ventured slowly over her belly button and nestled his lips against the faint peak of her womb. He rested there on the crest of that slope just long enough for his hands to grip the flesh of her hips and scratch along their circumference to the hipbone that peaked out in front, marking the sinuous top of her thighs.

Then—at long last, his head dipped down between her legs and she very nearly cried out for joy. She was dripping wet for him, brimming with all the anticipation and frustration that had been pent up over the long, tedious months. She thought of how many times she’d pictured this exact moment, how his smug face would look between her legs and how his wicked tongue would feel in that most intimate of places. Unwilling to miss it, she tugged the blindfold off of her eyes and threw it aside. He locked his grip on her hips to steady her, and as his mouth closed over her wet folds and he began to suck, she felt a wave of pleasure crash over her from head to toe.

“It’s about bloody time,” she panted, reaching for his hair again as she angled her hips upward to eagerly meet him. Even with his mouth so fully occupied, he somehow managed to convey a smile as he looked up at her.

And he held her gaze. That satisfied, simmering look burned in his eyes as his tongue pressed between her folds and her hips twitched at the potency of the sensation. There was something incredibly sexy about the way he maintained eye contact as he licked her again and again, each passing caress of his tongue sending her higher in a breathless climb. She had a hard time staying still, writhing helplessly in his hands as pleasure sung in her veins. Still, his grip was like an iron vise, holding her ruthlessly steady as he pressed harder and faster with his talented tongue.

She felt every little movement as he slid into her over and over, each stroke turning the screw inside of her just a little bit tighter. She hadn’t even noticed the noises she was making under the influence of his hot caress, but as she ventured closer to her first peak, she expressed her deep, primal need in loud moans that carried in the large room. The sounds seemed to spur Thorin on; he gripped her hips tighter, hard enough for his neatly trimmed fingernails to leave deep crescent-shaped impressions in her skin. Her hips bucked helplessly into him, eager for the orgasm she could feel creeping steadily closer. Pleasure rocked her body with one pass of his tongue after another, and as one of her hands pulled firmly at his hair, the other wound itself up in the silky sheets, struggling to find purchase in the waves of sensation.

“Yes,” she cried, her breath hitching as she drank it in with labored gasps. Her heels pressed into his powerful, rolling shoulders, her legs clenching up when his tongue pressed in just the right spot. “ _Thorin_ ,” she moaned, her voice hiking up as her core coiled on the edge of release. It was more than just desire now—it was hot, aching _need_ , the sort of crude, savage lust that consumed her utterly, to the extent that her mind was incapable of conjuring a single thought that didn’t revolve around the impending orgasm. Her body was stretched, held taught like a bowstring, singing with tension, and as his head dipped and his shoulders rolled and his tongue—his glorious, magnificent, utterly devilish tongue—worked inside of her, she felt herself begin to spill over the edge.

“ _Thorin!_ ” she cried again, her voice raw and ragged as the orgasm rushed through her. A searing flash of blinding white light screamed in her veins, her whole body clenching up tight. Her mind blanked out completely, every synapse firing at once, echoes of pleasure sounding through her from head to toe. For several long seconds he continued to caress her with his tongue, carrying her through her finish as she lost herself completely to the sensation.

Then she began to come down again and Thorin withdrew from between her legs, his breathing heavy as he wiped his face on the sleeve of his clean shirt. She relaxed her hips and languished on the bedding, throwing her arms up above her head, letting the warmth of the afterglow wash comfortably over her.

“Mm,” she purred, slanting a look down at him. Her mind was alight with praises of his skill, but even in the wake of a magnificent orgasm she wasn’t about to admit it. “Not too bad, old chum.”

Thorin froze, returning her gaze with suspicion and— _was it possible?_ —wounded ego. “Not too bad?” he repeated, incredulity in his voice.

“The thorns were a nice touch,” she added with casual cheer, still slightly breathless.

He narrowed his eyes and slowly, a challenging smile crept across his lips. His body rolled forward and he grabbed her waist, leaning down to lavish attention on her jawline. His hot breath washed over the skin and he scraped his teeth along the bone, ending with a gentle pinch that was just enough to send a tingle down her spine. “Then it’s a good thing I’m far from finished,” he said, licking the spot.

**Author's Note:**

> *maniacal laughter in the distance*


End file.
